


scent trail

by katineto (mistalagan)



Series: 2019 YOI Omegaverse Week [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Run/Hunting, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Omega/Omega, mating hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistalagan/pseuds/katineto
Summary: Sweat trickles down Yuuri’s bare neck, free of the deep blue, ribbon-like band that’s usually there. He’s grown so used to wearing it, ever since he turned fifteen, that despite all his clothing he feels entirely naked without it.It’s in his hunter’s hands now.





	scent trail

It’s past midday when Yuuri stops to rest, ducking down a short side-trail and squeezing through a narrow passageway between two massive boulders. The hideaway does nothing to cover his scent, but he’s been leaving false trails from the moment he started running—just after midnight, careful not to wake anyone else. He’s exhausted already. He sinks down upon a low stone and lets his eyes drift closed, basking in the warm sunlight.

A short time later, they snap open again as he breathes in a nervous gasp. He can’t have lost too much time, but it’s dangerous to let his guard fall even for a moment. He’s all alone out here.

All alone, except for one man.

He shakes his head to clear it, and pokes around the small space, hunting for the cache. He finds it shortly, a plastic container tucked into a crevice, left as a gift from those who’ve come before him. He took off this morning without any supplies, just the clothes on his back. He’s hungry. Luckily, the cache contains a water bottle, packaged food, and— _oh—_ caffeine pills.

He chews quickly and quietly, washing down the food and the pills with sweet water. The bottle is thin plastic: crinkly, loud, too loud to take with him. He drinks it all now.

The food—and caffeine—energizes him, and he considers his next step. To an outsider, the forest might seem wild, but it’s been carefully tended by generations of townsfolk. Up towards the mountains, though, it grows denser, easy to get lost in—or to lose someone else. If he can make it another few miles, and there’s no reason yet to think he can’t, he ought to be able to reach the twisting, maze-like game trails and seek out one of the scattered shelters there. Then, he can make it over the pass, cross the exposed northern side unseen, and safely disappear.

There’s a rustle and a crack from above, and he startles, nostrils flaring out to catch the breeze. He doesn’t smell anything amiss—but a smart hunter stalks his prey from downwind, and Yuuri’s hunter is nothing if not smart.

Carefully, he replaces the container, brushing away the evidence that it was ever disturbed, and slinks down the path with careful steps. His hunter will have a good idea of where he’s going, if not the exact location, and will almost certainly take the fastest way there. Yuuri had given himself a good headstart, after all, with several hours at least between the time he fled and when the man would have even woken up.

When he’s made it a good twenty minutes away from the hideaway with no other signs of pursuit, he feels confident enough to start jogging again. It’s a little louder, of course, but much quicker. He’s no runner but he is an athlete, and he thanks his conditioning workouts for his ability to keep going.

Of course, his hunter is an athlete, too, who runs just as much as he does. Yuuri’s advantage, such as it is, is in his familiarity with the area and the kind gifts the others have left for him.

The other man’s advantage—well.

Sweat trickles down Yuuri’s bare neck, free of the deep blue, ribbon-like band that’s usually there. He’s grown so used to wearing it, ever since he turned fifteen, that despite all his clothing he feels entirely naked without it.

It’s in his hunter’s hands now.

— 

Viktor had felt the people’s stares as he ran through the city streets, alternately blank or even accusatory towards the foreigner in their midst. Despite his money and status, he’d known they’d be entirely unwilling to help him, even to point the way towards the forest—it’s just as likely they’d direct him the opposite way.

He can appreciate their loyalty.

He’d woken early, even for him, before the dawn, to find his Yuuri long since vanished. Yuuri’s sister Mari, already awake and preparing for the day, had been mute. He hadn’t bothered to search the onsen. He’d known.

He’d left behind half-finished wedding preparations, clutching the only thing left to him of his Yuuri, now wrapped firmly around one wrist. He doesn’t need it to remind him of his Yuuri’s scent—he knows that instinctively, intimately—but from time to time he lifts it to his nose and breathes in anyway for that jolt of adrenaline, lust, and deep, deep want.

When he catches his Yuuri, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold himself back, even if he wanted to.

The scent is practically nonexistent in the city itself, overwhelmed by that of all the others nearby, but as he goes from road to packed gravel to dirt trail it grows stronger. He’s getting not just the occasional whiff, evidence he’s going in the right direction, but a clear path to follow.

He takes off at a quick pace, hopeful that he can catch up before night falls. At that point, it will be that much harder to navigate through the trees, and too easy by far to be led astray. At the very least, he needs to close the distance. His nose isn’t as keen as someone else’s might be, and the smaller the gap, the easier it will be for him to keep the scent.

A few kilometers later, he stops short. The main path continues onward, broad and wide, past a stone outcropping that slopes up to form a natural wall. Yuuri’s scent continues that way, too, but not just that way—a narrow trail snakes down to the left, and another splits off in the opposite direction. 

His eyes narrow; the scent ahead of him is strong, yes, but at this point there are two other paths to follow. Which is the most recent? Others would be able to tell, even be able to pinpoint the time down to the minute: Viktor’s nose simply isn’t good enough. He has to use his head instead.

The leftmost one has the strongest scent, and he nearly dashes down it, but pauses. His Yuuri isn’t a fool. He could easily have anticipated Viktor’s strategy, and done some small thing to affect it; intentionally rubbed his wrists over some object, perhaps, to strengthen the trace, or left some article of clothing behind.

Yuuri, he knows, must be trying to get past the relatively clear pathways of the lower forest and into the denser trail network further in. There are likely dozens of ways to get there, though, and no guarantee that he’ll ever cross back to the quickest, widest trail.

It’s a shell game. If Viktor were more suited to this kind of hunt, perhaps he’d already know the answer—but he’s no natural hunter, and the only person he’d ever want to track down is his Yuuri. The false trails must be fairly short; he could waste more time standing here than simply trying each of them. He wavers, indecisive.

He looks up.

The stone to his left isn’t entirely smooth; it has enough cragginess to form natural handholds. And bare rock doesn’t hold a scent well.

Viktor grins. Clever Yuuri. Not clever enough. 

It’s the work of less than a minute to pull himself up the face, which flattens out into a broad surface, exposed under the sunlight but progressing back into forest a few dozen meters away. He pads slowly around the edges, looking for footprints in the dirt, until that enticingly familiar smell catches his nose again.

There. He knows in his bones that he’s found it.

Viktor runs.

— 

Yuuri reaches the upper forest before dusk gives way into deep night, although the thick canopy cover gives the impression of a much darker sky. Here, the trails are narrow, often false and misleading, twisting into dead ends and back around upon themselves in loops. Yuuri may be a local, but even he’s not fully confident in his ability to navigate the maze.

He takes a deep breath. All he has to do is go north.

In the dark, everything is a predator. His eyes catch the moonlight well enough where it trickles through the trees, but there’s no way he can move at the same pace he can in the daylight. Instead, he goes as quietly as he can, nerves ratcheting up with every tiny sound he hears.

As time passes, his entire body tenses further; his breaths come out harsh, stuttered, and shallow. He’s getting confused. He’s no longer sure whether he’s taken a path, whether he’s going in circles, though he should be able to smell his own trail. He can’t. It’s overwhelmed by the more immediate smell of his rising fear.

He stumbles, catches himself before he falls facefirst into a tree. He leans his forehead against it, grounding himself with the feel of the rough bark. 

Other omegas have done this before him. He can make it.

He hears the rush of water, and perks up, twisting his head to focus his hearing. It’s barely there, but he can hear it over the light wind in the trees, and hope lights up his chest. Carefully, so as not to lose the sound, he picks his way towards it, blindly following whatever path takes him closer.

The stream is a small one, but it’s an important landmark; shallow, slow-moving, but running water. He carefully takes off his shoes and socks, then wades upstream about a hundred meters. When he exits on the other side, he scuffs the ground, disturbs small rocks, and walks just deep enough into the forest on the other side—then backs up and wades downstream.

He follows the water until he sees the mark, white and chalky in the moonlight. He dries his feet off and replaces his socks and shoes, taking off at a measured jog down the trail.

Two lefts, a right, and straight down the middle.

It’s off the path, but he knows where to look for the tiny shelter, big enough for a small futon and not much else. There’s a barred window and two doors, at opposite ends of the room. It’s risky to stop, but Yuuri is so, so tired, and this is as safe as it gets. An hour yet until he has another chance. He can’t wait that long.

He doesn’t bother to take off his shoes: he curls up on the futon and falls asleep immediately.

—

Viktor sways, light-headed. He’d thought to bring protein bars with him, and water, but it wasn’t enough. The night is dark, and though he knows that he’s the predator in this little game, he can’t help his skittish instincts—he wants to bolt at every strange noise.

He’s managed to follow Yuuri’s trail all the way into the upper forest, but here it’s become confused, doubling back on itself, running in circles, passing through places Viktor’s not even sure are trails. He knows Yuuri can handle himself, that it’s more likely another method of throwing Viktor off, but he still feels a pang of concern. His Yuuri had better not hurt himself.

All Viktor can do is concentrate: leverage the single-minded ambition that he normally uses to excel in his sport to find his omega.

He grits his teeth and goes onwards.

—

Yuuri’s eyes snap open.

Inch by inch, he rises from the futon, pricking up his ears.

He can’t hear anything.

His eyes dart around the shelter: the old futon, the locked doors. His nostrils flare.

Slowly, he turns his head to face the tiny barred window.

Bright eyes, shining in the moonlight, and sharp teeth, and silver hair.

“Yuuri,” the man calls out, in a whispered sing-song. “I found you.”

No, no, no. He’d slept too long, he’d let himself lose whatever advantage he had. He takes an instinctive step back. There’s no point in silence now. He’s equidistant to the two doors; so is Viktor, who’ll know immediately which one he aims for. The shelter was a trap.

Yuuri trembles, almost ready to give up now.

_No_.

He lunges to his left, and as he watches Viktor follow, makes a sharp turn to the right door, turning the deadbolt to open it as he crashes through. He hurtles wildly down the path, almost at a dead sprint: he has an advantage in stamina, but Viktor’s legs are longer, stronger, and Yuuri can hear him snarl as he turns in pursuit. Yuuri’s breaths are gasping and panicky, exactly the wrong sort for running, and he can’t take a wrong step now, the footsteps are right behind him, Viktor’s breath is at the back of his neck—

Viktor’s hands grasp at his jacket, and Yuuri hears him laugh in triumph. But Yuuri thinks fast, slips one arm out and then the other, and leaves Viktor with the empty shell of clothing.

They run for an eternity.

Faster, faster, faster, and he doubles down, pinches his lips and grinds his jaw as the trail slopes upward in a steep ascent. Step by agonizing step he springs up it, lungs and legs burning.

The trail begins to flatten out; he’s nearly reached the top when he’s tackled. He yelps and struggles; the two of them roll, twisting and wrestling, down the other side as the path makes its way into open meadow. Yuuri gives another wriggle, kicks into the dirt and launches himself to standing. He begins to run immediately. Viktor curses behind him, some foul thing in heavy Russian, and follows.

Downhill is more treacherous than up, a balance between letting gravity take him and staying on his feet. The way is clear from here, though, a straight shot to salvation. He runs as fast as he ever has, _one-two-three-one-two-three_ , embraces the burning of his muscles, the strange euphoria of exhaustion.

The slope levels out. He’s almost there, he’s almost made it—

he doesn’t see the tussock until it’s too late

—he trips, flying to the ground, landing on his forearms in a long moment of shock. He pushes himself up, but it’s too late.

Viktor’s on him, heavy and overwhelming, shoving him back down to the ground. His body weight settles on top of Yuuri, his hands at Yuuri’s wrists, his mouth at Yuuri’s neck, his breath heaving loud in Yuuri’s ear.

“Are you all right?” he asks, after several seconds where Yuuri doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Yuuri croaks, and then pushes up with his knee, tries to flip their positions. He doesn’t have much leverage, and only manages to move them slightly. Viktor hangs on like a leech. He wraps his arms around Yuuri. He hooks a leg around, too, and whine-grunt-snarls as Yuuri writhes.

“No,” he growls, “No more running.”

“Haven’t,” Yuuri pants, “Caught me,” he bucks, “Yet,” and finds himself face down in the grass.

Viktor doesn’t even bother to retort. He noses his face between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, fastens his teeth in the gap between shirt and skin, and bites down hard.

Yuuri stiffens, mouth gaping open with a low whimper, and then he goes limp.

Viktor holds on with his teeth for a good ten seconds longer, then lets go and carefully licks around the wound. He eases up on his grip carefully, as if Yuuri’s going to take off again in a dead sprint.

Yuuri simply rolls himself over to face Viktor, who’s sitting up on his haunches and looking concerned. The moonlight is bright in his hair. It’s very pretty.

“You’re very pretty,” he informs Viktor.

“You’re infuriating,” Viktor tells him. Yuuri grins.

“Wasn’t gonna make it easy.”

“Not easy!” Viktor splutters. “Not—Yuuri, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to _walk_ tomorrow. You’re going to have to carry me.”

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” Yuuri yawns. “So you’ll be doing the carrying.”

Viktor whines and flops down, his torso covering Yuuri’s, their bondmarks—Viktor’s just healed over, Yuuri’s brand new—touching. Yuuri smiles softly, and turns his head to breathe in the soft, juniper-bright scent of his omega.

He lifts one hand, and inches it under Viktor’s shirt, tracing up over the dip of his back and counting the knobs on his spine.

“Seriously?” Viktor says, “You have the energy for that right now?”

“It is traditional,” Yuuri teases. “Isn’t my big strong alpha going to fuck his helpless, submissive omega’s brains out? I did it for you.”

To his credit, Viktor’s nethers stir noticeably with interest. He, however, just groans. “ _You_ didn’t have to chase _me_ through the wilderness straight through the night. And if you wanted a big strong alpha…” he shakes his head. “No. I’m not going to finish that sentence. I’ll fuck you tomorrow if I can still move.”

“Deal,” Yuuri says, then pokes him in the side. “Hey. There’s a cabin nearby.”

“How nearby.”

“Close enough. Come on. My coach says there’s no resting until the day is done.”

“Your coach sounds like an asshole,” Viktor gripes, but he shifts himself anyway.

They stumble together over the grass towards where Yuuri remembers the cabin to be. “I still think I had it harder,” he muses, and Viktor snorts.

“Sure you did,” he says, “Indoors, a nice banquet hall, a party, lots of food…”

“…blindfolded, spun in circles, surrounded by your sisters, you weren’t even in the room! There were too many people, I couldn’t pick up on your scent at all. It was traumatic.”

“My sisters don’t smell anything like me. It should have been obvious.”

“It was! But they kept harassing me anyway.”

“As was their right. And you found me.”

“Of course I found you. And you found me.”

“Yes,” Viktor says, fond. “I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I was gonna write smut
> 
> but they were tired and so was I
> 
> maybe I'll do the other hunt, that one will have it


End file.
